Page 118 of Playboy Pitcher
“But I leave all that shit at the office. The minute I walk in that door, I’m not Hollis LaCroix, businessman. I’m a husband and a father, and I take those two roles very seriously. So, the answer is no, Benson. I didn’t ask Roger to pull you from the draft. I haven’t spoken to Roger in nearly twenty years.”
His words feel like a hammer to the chest. “But—”
“Your accomplishments are your own, son. Everything you’ve done in the MLB has been on your own merit. You’ve earned it all.”
My chest deflates. I’ve carried this burden so long, I never realized how heavy it was. Now that it’s gone, it’s like a weight has been lifted off me.
But Dad isn’t done. The line between his eyes sinks even deeper and the creases at the corners burst into cluttered webs of disappointment. “But consequently, your embarrassments have been your own as well, and unnecessary, by the way.” I try to interrupt to defend myself, but he doesn’t give me the chance. “I kept telling you to leave the Storm. I tried to warn you that Riggins asshole was driving it into the ground, but you refused to listen.” A twinge of hurt flashes across his face. “You’d rather go down with a sinking ship than take my advice.”
I can’t argue with him. It’s all true.
“You think I don’t know you were trying to punish me?” he asks, relaxing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Ben, you weren’t punishing me. You were sabotaging yourself.”
Great.I spent four years hating the wrong person. Instead of aiming all my insecurities at my father, I should have looked in the mirror.
As if hearing my thoughts, he sighs. “You’ve always been quick to think the worst of people, son. Of course, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
I lift my head to find a hint of a smile on his mouth. “You?”
The smile widens. “Let’s just say your mother and I didn’t get off on the best foot.”
I think of Willow. How she burst into the locker room that day with a chip on her shoulder. How I dialed up the attitude just to watch her sizzle. How even as we yelled at and insulted each other, I wanted to push her against the wall and kiss her.
“Yeah, well, don’t look for the same outcome from me.”
“Don’t be so sure. Talk to me, Ben.”
So, for the first time in four years, I do. I spend over half an hour telling my father everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I tell him about meeting Willow at the bar in West Palm Beach. I tell him about our confrontation in the locker room. He listens quietly as I explain how she came to my condo with this crazy proposal, and how I jumped in, no questions asked. I describe meeting Mal, then Emma, and realizing they were one and the same. Of course, I leave out the more intimate details, but I tell him about how things were changing, not only between Willow and me but also between Willow and the team. How I stopped caring so much about winning and started worrying about losing…her.
And then everything flipped upside down and fucking sideways.
Dad listens to everything, not once interrupting. When I’m finally finished, he clasps his hands together. “Are you in love with her, Ben?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. She wants an annulment.”
“That’s not what I asked.Do you love her?”
I think of my own rules, the ones I forced Willow to follow, daring her to step outside some stupid idealistic lines. “Yes.”
“Then don’t let her go.”
“It’s not that simple,” I insist. “She screwed me over. She played me. I wasn’t anything but a pawn in her chess game. There’s nothing left to hold onto.”
Dad is quiet for a moment. “Take your ego out of it, son. No woman gets married just to punish a man for someone else’s sins. You said all of this came out of the blue. What were you doing when she asked for the annulment?”
An image of Willow grabbing her clothes off my floor floods my mind.Please don’t make me say it.Staring at him, I shift my eyes from side to side. When he just gives me a blank stare, I clear my throat. “Uh, we actually weren’t doing it anymore.”
Now would be a perfect time for the earth to open up and drag me to Hell.
Thankfully, Dad catches on, his mouth forming words that never materialize. “Oh…Ohhhhh. Well then. Right, so a strange time.” Raking a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, he pauses a minute before adding, “Was she cold?”
I think back, trying to remove my anger and see the scene through clear glasses instead of jaded ones. “No, she was crying.”
“Did she avoid you after that?”
I wish I could say yes. I wish I could vilify her, but with the memory of her crying on her knees fresh in my mind, the only villain in this scenario is me. “No. She tried to ask me for help the next day, but I was still so angry, I wouldn’t listen to her.”
He nods while laying a finger against his lips. “He has something on her.”
